


Tall

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Species Swap, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 01:58:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11220894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Swapping species won’t keep Gimli from Legolas.





	Tall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissManiac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissManiac/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for MissManiac’s “3. Race/Species Reversal (non-human) with Legolas and Gimli while Thranduil and Thorin (or Gloin, whichever you find more fitting) are near and either also switched or just freaking out about the state of the other two while they are all big wonderous eyes and "woah, this is what you always feel like..?". I don't even care what happened to switch them (though reading this, I suspect it might have had something to do with wizards or plants that belong to wizards and were consumed), but I'd like to have a realistic outlook that they won't stay switched for a longer time period.” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/161379570810/au-prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this

In some ways, scaling the walls of the Woodland Keep is surprisingly easy—his slender feet now fit into grooves they never could before, and his long arms can reach farther for grip than ever. But he isn’t _used_ to these newly gangly limbs, and Gimli would still very much prefer to be a _dwarf_.

He isn’t. He’s distinctly Elven now, and his feather-light hair streams out behind him in the breeze, disconcertingly straight. The robes he was leant by the king’s staff weren’t meant for climbing in, but Gimli has no intention of hiding out in guest quarters like a timid mouse. He makes use of the many ivy and vines interwoven with the wood and stone of the keep and is grateful he weighs half of what he did. At least, he’s grateful now. If he falls, he’s sure he’ll prefer to have more weight on his bones. 

Finally he reaches the balcony he was aiming for. When he puts his hand on the corner of it, climbing up from the side, he’s half surprised no guards are there to stomp him down. He pulls himself up over the railing with deft ease and plops down to just breathe out. He doesn’t want to look down again. He might now have the body of an elf, but his mind is quite Dwarven, and he’ll never be a fan of heights. It’s a good few minutes before he can push himself back up again, where he straightens out his robes and strolls to duck through the gossamer curtains that let into the building. 

As soon as he’s standing in the wide room, both forbidden and familiar, a stout figure turns around to peer at him. Legolas’ eyes are just as blue as they’ve always been, clear and piercing, but his rosy lips are now amidst an attractive patch of blond hair. He opens his mouth in clear surprise, evidently no longer as stoic as his Elven countenance once afforded.

Gimli has no plans to be half so despondent. He lets his pleasure show clearly on his face, and he marches forward with outstretched arms. Legolas, sitting at the dresser with a gnarled brush half-caught in his newly-wild hair, leaps up. He lets the brush fall to the floor and darts right into Gimli’s arms, no less nimble for his girth. He wraps his thick arms around Gimli’s waist, squeezes hard, and buries his gorgeous face in Gimli’s chest. The height difference is slightly disorienting—reality is all _wrong_. But Legolas still feels _right_ in his arms, and Gimli holds Legolas back just as tenderly. 

For a long moment, they share the embrace, until Legolas steps back again. His clothes are still that of an elf, but far too long on him and bursting about the middle. Gimli keeps both hands on his broader shoulders and asks, “Well, my old friend, how do you like my new pretty-boy body, eh?”

He means it only as a light-hearted joke. But Legolas, to his dismay, frowns and mutters, “I do not. I preferred you as _you._ ”

With a small ache in his chest, Gimli concedes, “Fair enough.” He lets his hands fall away and admits, “I suppose you do look a little strange with a beard.”

“A little?” 

Somehow, Gimli thought their reunion would be a happier one. At least that they might get a good laugh out of it. But Legolas drops his head, still demure and princely. Gimli sighs, “And to think you’re usually the pleasant one.” Legolas lifts his head again, one eyebrow rising high. His hair is still unbraided, untamed—Gimli files that away for later; they should put each other’s braids back in. For now, he says, “I was told you weren’t taking visitors...”

“My father decided that,” Legolas bitterly retorts. “Naturally, he is furious, and will not have any see his son like this. I am officially confined to my room until Mithrandir arrives and fixes what has become of us.”

Granted they haven’t had much opportunity to meet, but Gimli already knew he didn’t like Thranduil. Because he knows Legolas won’t want to hear that, he says instead, “I understand. My father’s going a bit crazy himself. But then, how were we supposed to know those mushrooms we found were from some old crackpot wizard?”

“We should not have eaten strange mushrooms,” Legolas counters.

Gimli nods. It doesn’t seem to comfort Legolas much. So Gimli bends down to peck Legolas’ cheek, enjoying the strange, tingling scratch of facial hair on the other end. He still often finds himself stroking his bare chin. He catches Legolas gaze and promises, “Hey, it’ll be okay. Cheer up. We can always have fun with this—there’s lots of new territory to explore, and we’ve always loved exploring together. Think of this as... just one more adventure.” 

The corners of Legolas’ lips twitch. He murmurs, “This is not how I expected our parents meeting to go.”

“And this isn’t how I expected my love life to turn out,” Gimli chortles, “nor was it before! But here we are.”

“Here we are,” Legolas sighs. And his lips finally smile, his hand reaching out to clutch Gimli’s. Gimli strokes Legolas’ short fingers in his and squeezes, pleased, at least, that he finds Legolas as lovely as ever.


End file.
